


when love became an act of defiance

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Reunited and It Feels So Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: After their fight on the mountain, Geralt hears rumors that the bard, Jaskier, has abandoned his loose ways. Geralt is (rightfully) worried.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 613





	when love became an act of defiance

**Author's Note:**

> written for one of my supporters!! i hope u enjoy
> 
> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Before the fight on the mountain, before Geralt had so cruelly pushed him away, Jaskier had naively thought - well, he had thought he had a _chance_. It was that moment on the rock, sitting together, staring at the sky, that nursed something like hope in his chest. 

Maybe he wasn't crazy. Maybe his feelings for Geralt weren't completely unfounded, but most of all... Maybe he could _tell_ him. Maybe he should tell him. 

They could travel to the coast together after this was over, find an inn near the shore. Jaskier had imagined it, every small detail. He knew Geralt hadn't agreed to it - _yet_ \- but he also hadn't shut him down. There was still a chance. He just needed to ask him again.

But before he could, too much happened all at once. And _then_ -

_"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."_

Jaskier thought he had known pain before that moment. He had been mistaken. He felt like there was an arrow in his chest, twisting and twisting. He wanted to tell him, suddenly, all that he had been holding back for so long.

" _I love you, you stupid fucking idiot,_ " was on the tip of his tongue, eyes stinging.

But he didn't say it. He couldn't. Instead he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. Geralt didn't even look at him. Just as well, really, because he didn't want to see the expression on his face. He didn't think he could take it.

Instead he left, turning away and descending the mountain on his own.

He hoped, again and again, that he would be stopped before he reached the bottom - that he would hear footsteps and turn and see that Geralt had chased after him. It was all hopeless dreaming, of course, because Jaskier eventually reached the bottom, all alone. He tilted his head toward the sky, dried tears on his cheeks.

"Right, well," he said to himself. He swore he could see Geralt reflected back at him.

Shaking his head, he lowered his gaze and continued on. His heart was broken, but he wasn't. He had survived many hardships in his life. This wouldn't be the one to break him.

Or so he had thought.

*

Jaskier hoped - always naively hoping - that he would eventually see him again. That Geralt would realize his mistake, eventually, and find him. But a few days slowly turned to a few weeks and he clawed the hope out of his chest and threw it in the river. Figuratively, obviously, but the pain felt almost physical, like a gaping wound where his heart should be.

He stared at his reflection in the river. The last few weeks hadn't been kind to him; he had barely slept at all, dark circles under his eyes. 

He had to move on. Geralt wasn't returning. No amount of mourning - for something he had never even had - would change that. Geralt had made his decision, and he would have to accept that.

At the start of the fourth week, he performed at a tavern. His heart wasn't in it, but the patrons didn't seem to notice or care. They never did. At the end, he collected the coins.   
Business as usual. He could only hope no one would notice the lack of detail in his new songs. Normally he could do better, with his wild imagination, but lately he was lucky if he just wrote a rough draft. 

Jaskier stood up, shoving his coin pouch in his bag. He barely noticed the woman. 

"Hi," she greeted, and he visibly startled, head snapping in her direction. She was young with dark hair and even darker eyes. "I heard you play. You are just - _incredible_." 

She batted her eyelashes, obviously flirting. Jaskier couldn't remember the last time he had been with a person, long before the mountain. For him, at least. A few months, maybe. He had been so caught up in other things. Maybe, he thought, a small spark of hope igniting, this was what he needed. A distraction, a way to get his mind off his pain. Jaskier smiled slightly, clutching the strap of his bag. "I have a room at the local inn."

Her eyes widened, sparkling. "Oh," she said. "Bold. I like it."

But - later, as she took off her clothes, revealing smooth skin and freckles, Jaskier found himself unable to enjoy it. She took one look at his cock, soft between his legs, and he felt like an idiot. 

"Sorry," he said, scrambling off of the bed and grabbing his trousers. "I should - _yeah_."

She perched on the edge of the bed, frowning. "I don't understand."

"I just - " Jaskier rushed to the door. "I'm sorry."

All he heard before the door closed was, "But wait, this is your - "

He didn't care. He had his bag, and his lute. She could keep the room. Turning down the hall, he left the inn and subsequently left the town, cheeks burning, ashamed and angry. 

*

He assumed - and again hoped, always hoped - that it was an isolated incident. A core part of his personality, before and after meeting Geralt, had always been his shameless sex life. It wasn't just for laughs; he truly enjoyed it. The warm press of another body, distracting him from all his worries (he had plenty of those, especially nowadays).

He couldn't lose it. He was tired of losing things.

A few days later, he visited the local brothel and asked for their prettiest whore. 

She was just that: gorgeous, flowing curls and bright eyes. Jaskier swallowed and followed her to the room. It was only after he had settled and she had straddled him that he had realized he couldn't do it. Pushing her off him, he quickly stood up and left.

He at least had the decency to leave a generous tip.

*

Jaskier didn't try again for the next couple of weeks. He barely even masturbated, feeling undeserving of it. He was broken, maybe. Not just his heart, but all of him. Wouldn't that be just his luck?

But then he saw him. Not Geralt, but a burly man in the market. His heart squeezed painfully. 

Maybe, he thought, as he migrated closer, maybe he had been all wrong.

Maybe _this_ was what he needed. Not the soft curves of a woman, but the hard press of a man's body. _You could close your eyes,_ his brain whispered, _and think of Geralt._ He quickly shoved the thought away, feeling sick and guilty. 

"Hello," he greeted the stranger.

He turned to look at him. He was handsome, and expressionless. Just like Geralt.

Jaskier forced a bright smile. "Looking for company?"

It was, of course, a bust. He was able to kiss the man for what was easily twenty, twenty minutes. (He had tried to introduce himself, but Jaskier had stopped him. "Don't ruin the mystery.") But as soon as he tried to touch him, Jaskier ran out of the room like a wounded dog.

He ran to the end of town, stopping only once he couldn't run any longer. Doubling over, he pulled at his hair. "What is - " he squeezed his eyes shut " - wrong with me?"

But he knew the answer. 

None of these people, man or woman, could wipe away the burning love he still had for the other man. He had always believed, truly, that sex and love weren't inherently connected. He heard a woman say once they were sides of the same coin, and he had laughed at her.

But now he understood what she had been trying to convey, and he wish he didn't.

*

Eventually he stopped trying entirely. He continued with his life, performing at taverns and even a few celebrations, like banquets and weddings, but that part of his life was over. 

He still received plenty of offers - women batting their eyelashes at him during his performances, men approaching him with the pretense of simply having a drink together - but he turned them all away. Again and again. He just had no interest. For the first time in his life, he preferred to sleep alone.

And if he dreamed of Geralt almost every night, well, so be it.

*

Geralt sat down, chair creaking under his weight. Yennefer slid into the chair across from him, graceful as ever. He knew he was being difficult, but he couldn't help it. Over two months and no sign of him.

She waved down a server and ordered two ales. "We'll find him," she said, not for the first time. "We just have to keep searching."

His only reply was a grunt. Yennefer was unaffected, like always. The server returned with their drinks. He could be thankful for that, at least. Grabbing one of the tankards, he took a gulp, welcoming the familiar burn. 

"We're just going in circles at this point," she said after a long stretch of silence. Doubt - and something else, like concern - churned in the pit of his stomach. He knew she was right, and he hated it. Her next words were softer, like an arrow through his heart: "Have you considered - "

He growled, animalistic. "Don't say it."

Yennefer sighed, shaking her head, but she smartly did not say it.

Geralt had considered it, of course: Jaskier's death. But he simply couldn't accept it. Not yet. He needed to find him. He needed to find him and apologize. He had made a mistake on top of that mountain. Possibly, he realized later, the worst mistake of his life. He had pushed away the one person that had always stayed by his side, through thick and thin.

He had been relieved - and surprised - when Yennefer had popped up a few days after the incident on the mountain.

Not because he was excited to see her, not the way he'd been expecting, but because he had hoped she could help him. He had expected her to laugh in his face. She looked like she considered it, at first, but then - something in her expression had shifted, almost thoughtful and knowing.

"Okay," she had agreed, uncharacteristically soft.

He had eyed her skeptically. "Just like that?"

"You look like crap," she said bluntly. "As much as we have our issues, I don't want you worrying yourself to death."

Over the course of two months, they had traveled, using her portals (which he still hated, but braved for the cause), but so far they hadn't found him. He knew they were running out of places to look, but he couldn't stop. He had to find him, dead or alive. He knew he was being selfish, dragging her around like this, but he didn't know how to stop. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by approaching footsteps. Exchanging a look with Yennefer, they both turned to the newcomer at the same time. It was a woman with curly hair and bright eyes. She startled as they looked at her, fidgeting with her necklace.

"Um. I heard you were looking for the bard, Jaskier?"

Geralt sat up straighter. "I - " He cleared his throat, hard. "We are."

She nodded curtly. "He was here, a while ago. Paid for my services, but left before we actually did anything."

Yennefer made a face. Geralt blinked, absorbing the words at a slow pace. Because that made no sense. He had never known Jaskier to skip out on sex, not unless his life was being threatened. And even then, he could be stubborn. "Why?"

"I don't know," she answered. "He seemed... upset. He left town fairly quickly after that. I think he was headed west, but I'm not sure."

Geralt suddenly stood up. He thanked her with a few coins, not trusting his voice. Yennefer followed him out of the tavern. 

"Well?" she asked once they were alone under the starry sky.

He turned toward her, mouth twisting. "I think - " he started slowly " - I need to find him on my own." He couldn't explain why. Looking back, he knew that wasn't true. He could've explained why if he had been brave enough to face those feelings, but he wouldn't be. Not for a while longer.

Yennefer stepped forward. For a second time, she surprised him with her kindness. Maybe he had her pegged all wrong. Reaching out, she squeezed his arm. "Good luck."

*

He headed west. It was a few towns over he heard more rumors of the bard, Jaskier, and how he had abandoned his loose ways. 

_"Maybe he's finally settled down."_

_"Or he's too sick to - you know."_

Geralt stiffened at the gossip. His stomach churned, and he pushed his bowl away. He wanted to stand up and yell. What, he wasn't sure. He just wanted to release the pressure that had been building in his chest for days. 

He knew Jaskier. He hadn't always acted like it, pretending not to know his favorite food or the lyrics to his songs, but that was all it had ever been: an act. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, there was something seriously wrong with Jaskier if he had just abandoned sex.

During their travels, he had frequently visited brothels - or disappeared for the night with one of the locals. 

Geralt had joked, once, that he had more stamina than him. He still remembered Jaskier's surprised laughter.

Maybe he _was_ sick. That would explain it. 

The thought was painful, but at least he wasn't dead. He had to stay optimistic. Yennefer had gifted him a few elixirs - safe for human consumption - before they had parted ways.

But if he was sick, who knew with what. 

Worse, who knew how long he had. Humans died so often, so easily, from many different ailments. Jaskier wasn't old, far from it, but he also wasn't the bright-faced eighteen-year-old he had met all those years ago. If he was sick, there was a chance he wouldn't recover.

If he died before he found him - 

He suddenly stood up and slapped a few coins on the table, just enough for the meal. Leaving the tavern, he grabbed his things from the inn and fetched Roach. She snorted in his face, displeased and understandably so. They had just stopped for the first time in days. He scratched behind one of her ears. "I know," he said, hushed. "Just a little longer, okay?"

*

He continued west, rarely stopping. If it wasn't for Roach's health, he might not have stopped at all, but he cared for his horse, truly, so every couple of days he would stop and they would rest in the woods for a few hours before continuing on. Each town he heard more and more rumors.

One of the rumors even said Jaskier had turned to celibacy. Geralt would have laughed if he wasn't sick with worry.

He wished suddenly he hadn't continued without Yennefer; he could've used the distraction. But he had made his choice and, now, he lived with it because he couldn't hesitate or turn back. If Jaskier was sick, he needed him and as quickly as possible. 

Every hour on the road was torture. Geralt resisted the urge to push Roach to go faster. She was doing her best, he knew.

Geralt hoped - naively, maybe - that he would reach him soon enough to cure him of his ailment. The potions and elixirs Yennefer had so carefully mixed were tucked away in one of the saddlebags hanging from Roach's side. Though she would never admit it in so many words, he knew she cared for Jaskier.

His mind clouded over, dark and cold, with the other possibility: that he would be too late. That he would have to simply sit there and watch as his friend perished, slowly but surely. 

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut for a split-second, taking a deep breath. 

He couldn't worry about that. Not until he knew. They turned with the path; finally he could see a town. He had stopped by quite a few towns since heading west, but he was always two steps behind Jaskier, only picking up the lingering rumors of his presence. 

But maybe, finally, luck would be on his side. It was unlikely, but possible. 

Clenching his jaw, he tugged on Roach's reins and she sped up with a soft neigh. The wind whipped at his cheeks, tangled his hair. He didn't care. "Please," he whispered.

*

Geralt had very little hope upon entering the small town. It was the same as every town; he ignored the rude comments and harsh looks from local townsfolk, displeased with his presence. He headed for the tavern, following the smell of familiar spices. Reaching it, he jumped off Roach and tied her to a post, muttering a quick apology before rushing into the tavern.

A hushed silence fell upon the tavern at his entrance. 

Geralt was undeterred; he walked to the bar. "Jaskier," he said. "Has he been here?"

It was a man working the bar. He blinked at him. "Who?" 

Geralt growled, an unexpected and almost animalistic rage clawing at the back of his throat. He was just about to reach across the bar and grab the bastard by the front of his shirt when a woman wiggled up to the bar, frowning. "Jaskier?" she asked, and his head snapped in her direction. He nodded once. "The bard, right? I think he's here, actually, but he hasn't left his room in days."

He should've thanked her, but he didn't trust his voice. All he could do was nod curtly before he turned around and left the tavern. 

The inn was easy enough to find, small and dingy. 

"Jaskier," he said, perfectly even. The innkeeper was an old lady. She stared at him with owlishly wide eyes. "He carries a lute with him," he continued through clenched teeth, impatient. "Brown hair, blue eyes."

She nodded finally, pointing down the hall. "Last room on the left," she croaked. 

Without replying, he turned and rushed down the hall. He stopped at the last room on the left, like instructed, and hesitated, listening. He could hear a faint heartbeat through the wood. _He's alive,_ he thought with a burst of relief, but for how long? Geralt didn't even knock; he threw the door open.

"Jaskier," he said before his eyes settled on the man. It was Jaskier, undoubtedly, with the same brown hair and blue eyes.

But he looked different; his skin was paler, nearly translucent, and there were deep bags under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Geralt's stomach churned at the sight.

It was bad, just like he had feared. Maybe worse.

"Geralt," he said. "What are you doing here?"

He took a step forward, letting the door shut behind him with a bang. "How could you ask that? I'm here for you," he said with surprising ease. 

Jaskier blinked once. "Oh." Then he smiled, too bright. "Well, here I am."

Geralt had known him long enough to be able to recognize a fake smile when he saw it. He was pretending to be okay, likely for his sake. He should've expected that. Geralt took another step forward, nearing the bed. He noticed - how could he not? - the way Jaskier tensed more with each step. He was the worst. He had been an absolute bastard and now Jaskier was dying.

"I need to tell you something," he said.

Jaskier stared at him. Closer, he could see that he had lost weight. Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat and sat, gingerly, on the bed. He didn't dare reach for Jaskier. Not yet, at least. 

"I am so sorry," he said, sincere and quiet. Jaskier's eyes widened, comically wide. Geralt barreled on, "I never should've said those things to you, and I hope you know none of it was true. Not even a little bit." 

He paused, just in case, but Jaskier was silent. Very well; he deserved that.

"You stood by my side, for better or worse, through thick or thin, and I betrayed you. I don't know if you can ever forgive me, but - " The words caught in his throat, heavy and thick. "I want to be here for you. If you'll let me."

No one deserved to die alone, but especially Jaskier.

Jaskier smiled, small but genuine. "That's all I ever wanted," he admitted softly.

Geralt ignored the pain in his chest. Guilt. But there was no time for that. He was here, now. That was what mattered. He had to be strong for Jaskier. "Let me stay," he said. "I will never betray you like that again."

Jaskier looked down and up again. His chin wobbled. "If you _ever_ hurt me like that again - "

He reached out, then, feeling able. He grabbed one of Jaskier's hands, gently caressing it. "I won't," he said, and he was thankful for his steady voice. "Never again."

Jaskier didn't reply, but he visibly relaxed and that was just as well. Geralt stared at their hands, noticed the dirt under Jaskier's nails. So unlike him, but understandable. He lightly squeezed his hand.

"I'll call for a bath," he said softly. 

Jaskier simply nodded, eyes downcast.

*

The tub was small, just big enough for Jaskier. Didn't matter. Geralt crouched outside of it, using a bucket to wash his hair, gently pouring it over his head. He noticed his hair was matted, also unlike him. Geralt worked his fingers through it, slow and gentle. 

Jaskier was silent for all of it. That was maybe the most worrying part. Geralt had never heard him so silent.

After his hair was clean, and untangled, he wiped his arms down with a rag and scrubbed his back. This wasn't new for them, really, they had often helped each other like this. But there was something different about it, now, with Jaskier so silent and unresponsive. 

Then, of course, the reason for the bath. 

Geralt gently cleaned under his nails. Jaskier watched, eyes twinkling in an odd way.

Finished, he helped him out of the tub and dried him off. Jaskier would normally crack a joke right about now, something indecent, but he didn't. Geralt never thought he would miss his jokes so much.

Back in the room, he led Jaskier to the bed. Jaskier sat down and he sat behind him. 

"Do you mind?" he asked as he reached for Jaskier's bag, discarded on the floor. Jaskier simply nodded. That would have to do. He rummaged through his bag for the wooden comb he kept with him. He found it, tucked away at the bottom. He obviously hadn't used it in a while.

With that, he started to comb through Jaskier's hair, slow and gentle. 

"You don't have to do all this," Jaskier said suddenly. "I forgive you. Really."

Geralt's hands stilled in his hair. "I'm not doing this for any reason but that I want to," he replied after a beat, meaning it. Jaskier deserved to be cared for. Especially if - if these were his last days. His stomach churned painfully, squeezing his eyes shut. "You have always deserved better, Jaskier."

The bed creaked. When he opened his eyes, Jaskier had turned around to look at him. 

He opened his mouth, closed it. Looked away. Geralt understood that feeling all too well - wanting to say something, but not knowing how. He took pity on him. "I'll grab us something to eat," he said quietly. "Stay here and get comfortable."

Jaskier looked up, eyes wide. "Um. Okay." 

Geralt stood up, gently squeezing Jaskier's shoulder once before letting go and crossing the room. The tavern was packed when he arrived, especially for such a small town. He paid for some soup, the best option for Jaskier's stomach, before returning to the room.

Jaskier had gotten comfortable, apparently, now leaning back against the rickety headboard. Geralt smiled slightly as he sat on the bed with the tray. 

"Hungry?" he asked, and Jaskier nodded almost shyly.

Geralt placed the tray in his lap and watched quietly as he ate. Jaskier paused at one point, licking his lips. "Are you not going to eat?"

"Not very hungry," he admitted. How could he be, given the situation? "But you need the energy."

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, mouth twisting oddly, before eventually continuing to eat. Once he was finished, Geralt moved the tray off his lap. The sky was dark through the window. Geralt knew Jaskier probably needed his rest and yet he was scared - terrified, really - that if he slept, he might never wake up.

But he couldn't be so selfish.

Geralt cleared his throat, eyes darting around the room. He had looked in Jaskier's bag for the comb and hadn't seen any type of medicine, but certainly he had gotten something to help even if not cure the ailment. 

"Do you need - " 

Jaskier turned away, wiggling down the bed to put his head on the lumpy pillow. "Goodnight, Geralt. You can sleep on the floor."

Huh. Well. Geralt nodded, standing up. He supposed he still deserved that. "Goodnight, Jaskier," he replied quietly as he pinched the candlewicks between his fingers.

*

In the morning, Jaskier was the first one up. That was unusual. Geralt sat up and watched as he moved around the room, packing his things. He really had lost a lot of weight; he looked much younger like this, thin and pale. Geralt stood up and Jaskier's head snapped in his direction.

"Good morning," he said tersely.

Geralt nodded, smiling a little. He approached him slowly. Jaskier stopped what he was doing, turning around to look at him. How long had he been up? He looked tired, those same dark circles still under his eyes.

He remembered suddenly what he hadn't gotten to ask last night.

"Do you have enough medicine to travel?" he asked. Really, he didn't think Jaskier should be traveling at all but he knew he was too stubborn to convince otherwise. At least he could make sure he was stocked up with the right stuff. "I could fetch you more before we leave. Just tell me what kind, and where you bought it." He didn't even mention the price; he would be willing to pay anything.

Jaskier paused, mouth twisting oddly. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean," Geralt continued slowly, "what have you been taking? To keep you up and moving like this?"

Jaskier tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. "Geralt, what are you talking about?" he repeated. "I'm not - I'm not _sick_. Is that what - " He suddenly spun around, shoulders shaking. "Gods, is _that_ why - " He pressed his hands over his face, laughing dryly. "You thought I was _sick?_ "

Geralt didn't understand. "Wait," he said. "You're not sick?"

Jaskier spun back around. "Of course not!" he replied, a little too loud. "Is that the only reason you're here? Because you thought I _needed_ you or something?"

"But - but look at you!" he replied, gesturing wildly. And yeah, even he knew that didn't sound right. He quickly continued: "I mean, you've lost so much weight and - and I've never seen you look so exhausted." But most of all: "I've heard the rumors!"

Silence fell over the both of them. Jaskier blinked slowly. "What rumors?" he asked finally, voice wavering. 

Geralt swallowed thickly, looking away. "You haven't been - messing around, like you used to," he said, suddenly feeling embarrassed and childish. 

Jaskier let out a disbelieving laugh. "You thought - Gods, Geralt. I'm not _sick_." He turned away slightly, folding his arms over his chest. "I've been _upset_."

That made sense, actually. "Because of what happened on the mountain." It wasn't really a question. 

Jaskier tugged his fingers through his hair with a deep sigh, looking back. "Yeah," he confirmed softly. "You really hurt me, Geralt." He smiled slightly, tight around the edges. Geralt took a step closer. "More than you know. I wanted to just _move on_ and be myself again, but I couldn't."

He had apologized and naively thought they could move on just like that. Now he knew no apology could heal the hurt so quickly. 

"I didn't mean to," he said. "I was angry and I took it out on you but I didn't _mean_ any of it."

Jaskier nodded, shoulders sagging. "I know," he said. "I know you, Geralt, better than you think. I knew that and yet - I was still so fucking _hurt_ because I thought - I really thought you'd stop me before I left the mountain." He sniffed. "And you didn't."

"I don't know how to fix this," he admitted quietly. But he wanted to. He wished he could go back in time and take back all of it, but he couldn't. 

Jaskier took a shaky breath. "Ironically, I think the best thing I can do for myself is tell you the truth. Even though we just reunited, and you might leave again, I owe that to myself."

Geralt blinked at him. "The truth?" he asked, not understanding. "About what?"

"My hurt ran deeper than you think, Geralt," he said, not quite looking at him, jaw clenched. "Because I realized, long ago, that I do not just care for you as a _friend_. When we were on that mountain, when I mentioned going to the coast, I thought - maybe this was it. Maybe after this was over, I could really convince you to go to the coast with me. And there, I could tell you how I feel."

Geralt was silent, eyes owlishly wide. Jaskier might've laughed under any other circumstances. Geralt rarely looked so shocked by, well, _anything_.

But no, he didn't feel like laughing. Not even a little bit. 

"I love you, Geralt," he said, lifting his gaze, chin wobbling. "I am not confessing in hopes of some tearful reciprocation, but because I deserve to be heard. No matter how you feel, I deserve at least that much."

The sight of Jaskier, deathly thin, chin wobbling, eyes glistening, was like a stab to the heart. Geralt realized suddenly and vividly why he had been so worried about him; he loved him. Maybe he didn't know how, just yet, but he knew that without a doubt in the world. He _loved_ him, and he wanted him by his side. And he would _kill_ anyone who ever dared to hurt him again. Lurching forward, he threw his arms around the bard.

Jaskier stiffened for a split-second before slowly returning the embrace, a light hand on his back. 

Geralt nosed at his hair. "You deserve much more than that," he muttered. He wasn't sure if he could give that to him - what he deserved - but he wanted to, he realized. He wanted to be a person _deserving_ of Jaskier's love.

Jaskier let out a wet sob and buried his face in the warm crook of his neck. They held each other for easily an hour, both silent.

*

A few months later, after lots of deep (uncomfortable) conversations and nearly tearful realizations, they stood at the coast. Jaskier's hand was cool in his own. He looked better, now, having put on some weight. But most of all the smile on his face was genuine. 

Jaskier turned toward him. "Thank you," he said, "for coming with me."

"I'd follow you anywhere you go," he replied. It was sappy, but terrifyingly true. 

Sighing, Jaskier leaned his head on his shoulder and they continued to watch the sea.


End file.
